


Person of Interest

by caseykaboom



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caseykaboom/pseuds/caseykaboom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want one,” Tony said, when Natalie Rushman left the room.<br/>“No.” Pepper said.</p><p>And, because Pepper was not a child, she did not say: I saw her first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pepper first saw the woman through the tainted windows of a parked company car: she had on large sunglasses but the red curls cascading down under her hat were unmistakable. She was sipping a cold drink on the patio of the Starbucks underneath SI’s LA office, camera and map pushed to the side, a faint smile playing at her lips. _A tourist,_ Pepper thought, through the haze of paperwork that she kept track of not because she was good at it, which she was, but because _someone_ had to give a damn about infrastructure or she was pretty sure SI would crumble onto itself and die. And: _what a lovely woman_.

“There are four convertibles under my name in Malibu alone and you pick me up in an unmarked SUV,” Tony Stark complained, climbing into the car, late, barely dressed and blowing kisses at his latest PA. Pepper did not sigh, because she was a professional, and when she called Muthuswamy from Security to take care of the PA on the curb neither did he; because Pepper was also SI’s Chief of Staff and she required all of her department heads to be professionals, the only exception being R&D, due to extenuating circumstances such as him technically being her boss.

As Tony told Happy to drive she looked towards the Starbucks again: the woman with the red curls was gone.

“You’re going to speak in front of the Senate in half an hour. I need you to memorize these numbers,” Pepper said, handing Tony his cards and putting the woman out of her mind.

That was three weeks ago.

Three weeks later, the lovely woman with the unmistakable red curls turned out to be an employee in her company, who was apparently the only corporate lawyer in SI’s LA and San Diego offices Pepper could call on to process the transfer of the company to her name.

“She cleared her background checks,” Muthuswamy said. “But there are three red flags in her file: here,” he shared his screen on the conference call, “professional contacts: flagged as unlikely and unverifiable, and here: previous employment, flagged as out of place.”

Pepper all but gaped at Natalie Rushman’s modeling portfolio: those legs stretched on for miles, and God, those lingerie were criminal – was it the lighting or were those actually outlines of her nipples through the soft fabric and softer feathers?

Pepper cleared her throat. “Override them,” she said.

Muthuswamy, and Gong from San Diego’s Legal, were quiet. If they were sitting across a conference table they would have shared a look – Pepper made a note to ask R&D to develop something for it in the next iteration of, of whatever the head wanted to develop next, she guessed.

“We lost five corporate lawyers in LA and San Diego in the span of a week,” Pepper said. “The last one had a bomb scare at her kid’s _kindergarten_. Override those flags and get a team prepped for contingency plans: sabotage, blackmail, kidnapping,” she paused.

“Bomb threat,” Gong added. Pepper allowed herself to sigh.

“Bomb threat,” she agreed. “Alright, put Happy in the room. But don’t brief him, because that man is an _abysmal_ liar.”

“You got it,” Muthuswamy said, and exited the call.

“I’ll work up some statements with Public Information,” Gong said gently. “Get some sleep, Pepper.”

Pepper opened her mouth to say _you too_ , and then realized how meaningless that would be: neither Gong nor Muthuswamy were likely to be getting any sleep that night.

“Get Payroll to forward me your details once we’re done,” she said instead, and decidedly did not think about how much she sounded like Tony when he was in the process of buying her friendship. Gong laughed, out of politeness.

*

“I want one,” Tony said, when Natalie Rushman left the room.

“No.” Pepper said.

Although Tony Stark could code snarky personalities to AIs and fix vacuum cleaners in his sleep, Pepper was still the smarter one between the two of them, and often the _smartest_ one in the room, when the room was full of egotistical white men on Tony’s or Happy's level – the latter was still whimpering in the ring. Because of this she did not remind Tony that Natalie Rushman was likely a person of interest at the shady organization that knew about the Iron Man suit before _she_ did: when she phoned SHIELD she actually spoke to a _person_ , instead of getting Phil Coulson’s voicemail, who informed her that they had no information on any Natalie Rushman.

She did not say: _Natalie Rushman just walked out of here with your fingerprint and signature, and every legal document required to lock you out of your own company._

She did not say: _Natalie Rushman, who just put your personal bodyguard of five years on the floor in less than three seconds, could put every security personnel detailed to escort her back to Legal on the floor, and looking gorgeous while doing it. In fact, she is probably doing this right now and making a run for it with those documents._

And, because Pepper was not a child, she did not say: _I saw her first._

 


	2. Chapter 2

“… Special Assistant Jordan,” said Virginia “Pepper” Potts, graduate _cum laude_ of Agnes Scott, Chief of Staff and CEO of Stark Industries, likely to be named in Forbes 40 Under 40 before the year ended; her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Look up.”

Special Assistant Jordan, who reported to his new position that morning, looked up slowly from the opening of his boss’ shirt, still in a daze.

Pepper tossed her documents on the desk and dialed for HR. “Tell Ms. Rossi I just fired the new Special Assistant. Yes, the one with an MBA from Harvard and three years with Berkshire Hathaway. Give him three months’ severance; SI is not stingy.”

“What?” Jordan finally snapped out of it up enough to track Pepper’s eyes; Pepper was no long looking at him. “You… you can’t fire me for no reason! What did I do? I’m going to sue you!”

“ _You_ are going to sue _me_?” Pepper looked up, incredulous. “It’s been four hours since you reported to my office, and you have _just_ noticed that my face is not on my chest. Did you even know that Rushman has eyes? Can you spell sexual harassment?”

Jordan’s face contorted. “Bitch, you—” he lunged onto Pepper’s desk. In a blur of movement some small thing flashed by his eyes, down his nose and thudded on the desk. He looked down slowly: a letter opener reverberated between his index finger and middle finger, stabbed half an inch into solid oak. Pepper Potts hadn’t moved; behind her, her back straight and her breath even, Legal Assistant Rushman cocked her head at him and smiled. Cold sweat poured out of him.

“Mr. Jordan,” Pepper’s voice was exceptionally amicable. “I highly recommend you be more intelligent than this.”

“Yes… ma’am,” Jordan retracted his hands carefully. After retreating behind the office door he snarled: “you’re going to regret this, you crazy bitch, you think you have all the power now? Just because you’re fucking Stark on the regular? I have connections. I’m going to fucking burn you…”

Pepper barked out a laugh. “You’re the nephew of the second mistress of my fifth board member. It’s really not something to be proud of.”

Former Special Assistant Jordan sputtered and, afraid that Natalie Rushman will throw a letter opener at him again, slammed the door shut and fled.

*

Ms. Rossi, head of HR, ruled her department four and a half feet (five feet with heels) of concentrated verbal abuse, fake Italian accent, and blazer shoulders twice the width of her waist and straight as an arrow. God knew where the woman even came from; one of Tony’s earliest memories in the SI headquarters was stumbling drunk into her office, and watching her tell someone that hiring him was like buying an exciting new electronic from the electronics store and finding out after getting home that it didn’t work.

(“I’m Tony Stark,” Tony had said, after Suits bumbled out of the office. He had not yet been as articulate a drunk – as he will have become.

“Christina Rossi, darling, and that is Miz-Rossi to you,” she had said: “Enunciate the ‘s’ in the ‘Ms.’ I insist. I am nobody’s miss and nobody’s missus.”)

“With all due respect, Ms. Rossi,” Pepper bit her teeth: “I’ve been trailing behind Tony for five years. I know what a CEO can and can’t do—”

“What Tony Stark can and cannot do, darling. He makes it look easy. I have seen it. But nobody can run this company the way he does. It is his company—”

“Well it’s my company now—”

“Come now, darling—”

“Ms. Rossi,” Pepper put her hands on her desk and straightened her back. “I am the CEO of SI, and I have the paperwork to prove it. If that is not enough for you, I have been assured that our retirement package is one of the country’s best.”

Ms. Rossi looked at Pepper. When she spoke she was uncharacteristically slow: and deliberate.

“I am a woman too, Potts. I made head of HR before you graduated from pigtails and pleated plaid skirts. I’ve watched more stupid little girls trying to move up the food chain than Tony has had PAs. They inevitably fail,” she looked Pepper directly in the eyes: “because they don’t know where the limit lies. They don’t know when to stop. Call it a win. Be grateful for what they have.” She grinned: too many teeth. “Case in point,” she pointed to herself. “I tried looking out for you, Potts. The Board will not take you seriously. Our collaborators will not take you seriously. Our _competitors_ will not take you seriously. Do you really think you can lead SI without Tony?”

She stood up from her chair. “So it is that you are SI’s new CEO. Congratulations. Certainly nothing but the best of wishes from me. But perhaps you don’t want it.”

“SI thanks you for your service,” Pepper also stood up, and her door slammed shut for the second time in a day.


	3. Chapter 3

> [encrypted message begins]
> 
> From: Agent N.R., on-op
> 
> To: the office of Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD
> 
> Cc: SHIELD Records; Agent P.C., on-op
> 
> Re: PoI Virginia “Pepper” Potts, CEO of Stark Industries
> 
>  
> 
> After in-person re-assessment of PoI Virginia “Pepper” Potts, the following amendment to her initial assessment, drawn by Agent P.C., [date redacted], is suggested:
> 
>   * Unlikely to have had sexual relations with Mr. Stark, based on career ambitions and previous sexual partners of both Miss Potts and Mr. Stark (cross ref #Civ-08842, observation only; #Mil-068299, on file)
>   * Despite demonstrable leadership capabilities, Miss Potts is continuously underestimated due to gross sexism in the corporate setting
>   * Childhood abandonment issues evident,
> 


Natasha glanced into Pepper’s bathroom, glowing yellow in the nightlight. Various bottles of pills were strewn across the countertop; edges of the sink were dusted in dark-coloured eyeshadow. Towels and bathrobes sat in a heap in the corner.

 _How did she walk out of this mess every day looking so put-together_ , Natasha wondered.

>   * Childhood abandonment issues evident, likely maternal
>   * Signs of SSRI overuse, moderate to severe
>   * 


“Natalie?” Pepper called from the bedroom, followed by the sound of a crash. Natasha did a lightning-quick assessment of her surroundings: no signs of entry, no presence of third party, exits clear. Her thumb hovered on the delete key.

“Natalie,” Pepper’s voice sounded muffled. “Sorry—I’m. Where are my contacts. Are you still there?”

Natasha told herself that neither Fury nor Coulson needed to know about Pepper’s vision.

“I’m here,” she said, saving her work and locking her Blackberry.

“You have got to stop sounding like that,” Pepper mumbled as Natasha kicked her way toward her bedroom. “Oh hey,” she beamed at Natasha from the floor.

“Hello, Miss Potts,” Natasha said, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing.

“I just—no, not that,” Pepper face-planted against her Duvet. “Not ‘Miss Potts’, and not like that.”

Natasha stalked closer to Pepper, the soft rug leaving her ticklish in her feet, her palms, the bit inside her just under the sternum. “What would you like it to be? Pepper?” she husked against Pepper’s ear.

Pepper—Natasha’s pretty sure that Pepper snored, a little wheeze of a snore. The cutest of snores. Natasha burst out laughing. Pepper didn’t even stir.

She hauled Pepper up and threw her on the bed, still passed-out drunk from the corporation-wide party. The Board decided that a welcome party was in tow after she had fired a PA and a department head on her first day, and in the subsequent month restructured Advertising in all offices on the west coast; SI on the Dow steadily on the climb. The bar was free and people had been stressed, and as a result the toasts were relentless. Pepper had stumbled out of the restaurant, smelling like liquor and puke and cigarettes, at 2 in the morning, and nearly rolled down the steps into the subway.

(“Where’s Happy,” Natasha had frowned in the flickering lights of the public washroom; Pepper wiped her face haphazardly with cotton pads and makeup remover. She’d at least known to do her makeup light.

“Under the table,” Pepper had said, swaying.

 _What good is a driver slash bodyguard that drank when the boss did and handled his liquor worse_ , Natasha had thought, forcing herself to look away from the freckles and the clear skin. Pepper looked young without makeup, vulnerable, her body supple and soft in her arms.)

“Well, that’ll teach you.” Natasha sat down carefully on the bed. Earlier in the night, after she had kicked a path through clothes and newspapers and legal documents ( _?_ ) to get Pepper onto the bed, she had sat down right on top a sharp object ( _shit, ambush, windows-floor-door—what the fuck—why is there a comb under the covers? What’s under the Duvet—a nail clipper? and a mirror. What in the actual fuck._ ) Natasha had been speechless. On second thought, she hadn’t been surprised: she had seen Pepper’s schedule. Every day work piled on from the moment Pepper woke up until the moment she shut her eyes.

“You need to get a maid,” she said, walking into the kitchen—opening the cupboard—sighing, doubling back to the bedroom to fish out a glass from a pile of takeout containers, and left some water on Pepper’s bedside table.


	4. Chapter 4

“You know what would solve all of your problems,” said Li: “locking Tony Stark out of the company. Speaking confidentially, of course.”

“I’m not going to do that and you know it,” Pepper looked up from the report in her hand. Her CFO was sitting comfortably in her guest chair. Five years ago, when SI had rescued him out of crippling student debt, Li had been a mouse of a man, commuting to work on public transit in wrinkled suits and double-strapped schoolbags. Now he was lounging in the CEO’s office and casually bouncing off ideas with Pepper, secure in the fact that SI needed him more than it needed Tony Stark.

“Still,” he said. “A year ago you would have flipped shit if I said that.”

“Professional relations sessions,” Pepper said lightly. “Mandatory for all managerial staff.”

“You _went_ to those?”

“Not this year. I went as Tony for the past three years.”

“You don’t say,” Li said.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” It had been a colossal waste of her time. She should speak to HR, Pepper made a mental note. If her staff did not know how to manage professional relations they didn’t belong in SI. “What else have you got?”

Li sat up straight and looked her in the eyes. “Look, we can’t compete in IT, no matter what the Board says. There’s no fucking room. Plus we can’t hope to match the Asian labour market—most of our manufacturing is stateside, with high level federal clearance. We should make use of them; we paid good money getting those clearance, and getting good people to staff them. That means playing ball with the government.”

Pepper nodded. “So no NFPs? I recall you suggesting the iVegan Society.”

Li grinned. “We all know how much you love veganism.”

Pepper gave him a dry look. “I _need_ to piggyback on Not For Profits, Li,” she said. “The only people that campaign more aggressively than NFPs are dating sites and Bible groups. Not exactly the publicity I’m aiming for.”

“Okay, I know,” Li snapped his fingers: “give them South America.” He stood up and flipped Pepper’s report to the page he wanted. “Here: we’ve got 3 boulders and cement factories in Sao Paulo, and 2 ground sites in Minas Gerais. Worth maybe five million dollars a year, about twenty on the Prospectus.”

“Boulders and cement factories.”

“Yeah, we used to blow that stuff up for quality control, remember? They were complete write-offs in the budget. We can play NFPs with them 20 different ways, just refit them to make plastics and we’re in business. Hell, we can probably keep making cement—if we sell them for cost recovery we’d be _making_ money.”

“I like it,” Pepper circled something on her paper. “That’s one problem solved. That just leaves the gaping hole of what the fuck SI is supposed to be making, if not weapons.”

Li shrugged. ¯\\_(シ)_/¯ “I’m telling you, Potts, you’re fucking nuts. This is no way to run a multinational corporate—R&D develops _for_ Marketing, otherwise we end up on the 2am infomercials. What do _you_ , CEO and Chief of Staff, think SI makes? I can do the SWOT analysis with you right here, right now: SI makes weapons. Fuck Tony Stark and his shenanigans. By all rights it should be Potts Industries by now, but you don’t sign the papers. Why not? What is this weird display of loyalty? They explicitly teach you not to have loyalty in MBA school, you know.”

“I’m sure they don’t.”

“They do, I’m telling you, I’ve snuck into a class or two.”

“And it’s called Business School.”

“Who the fuck cares.”

Pepper eyed him sideways, and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Thanks, Li—I appreciate it.”

“I still think you should lock him out. Off the record.”

“I want a full report on the NFPs and South America by the end of the week.”

“You’ll have it tomorrow,” Li waved, already out the door.


End file.
